Not Dead
by Ink Spotz
Summary: John hears wind of another "Not Dead" conspiracy meeting for Sherlock, and decides to attend.


"I believe that Sherlock Holmes is not dead!"

That cry echoed throughout the hall in intermittent declarations. John stood on the balcony out back, watching from the shadows as more and more people that had once supported the great detective filed slowly into the venue. He didn't want to be here; this gathering was just filling him with more sorrow. He didn't think that he could deal with it right now. Sherlock's death had filled him with enough sorrow for a lifetime. Even the war hadn't left as big as an impact as this did.

No one seemed to notice or mind that John was standing on the balcony whilst everyone else sat down together below him, socializing about Sherlock's death, and how he wasn't really dead. Wasn't really dead! John shook his head. Of course he was dead. He had seen him fall with his own eyes; he had tested his pulse himself with his own fingers. Sherlock was as dead as any dead person could ever be. No amount of belief would bring him back.

"Drink, sir?" asked a voice behind him.

John turned to face the owner of the voice behind him, and noticed that a young boy was standing near him. He was holding a glass of fruit punch from downstairs. He was obviously too young to be by himself, but yet he had come all this way just to make sure that his thirst could be satisfied. John smiled softly at the boy, slowly bending down in front of him.

"Yes, thank you."

The boy smiled slightly and handed John the drink. John took a small sip to satisfy the boy, and then brought the cup down to speak again.

"What brings you up here all by yourself, lad?"

"I could see you up here by yourself. You looked lonely. I thought I'd just offer to get you a drink."

"Well, that was mighty kind of you. Thank you. What's your name?"

"Timothy," he replied with a slight flush to his cheeks. "Timothy Page. What's your name?"

"My name is John. John Watson."

The little boy's eyes grew as wide as quarters. His mouth formed a small "O" as he looked at John. John chuckled slightly, half expecting this kind of reaction.

"Are you _the _John Watson that use to assist Sherlock Holmes?"

"Yes, that would be me," replied John.

"That's so awesome! You're like a superhero sidekick!"

John chuckled. Timothy was quite an enthusiastic youngster. He was managing to lift his spirits up substantially.

"You think so, do you?"

"Could you tell me stories about your adventures?" asked Timothy excitedly.

"Shouldn't you be finding your folks, Timothy? Do they know you're up here?..."

"My parents are downstairs. I told them I was going onto the balcony for a bit." Timothy turned his shocked eyes into those of a pleading puppy's. "Pleeeease?"

John chuckled. He stood up only to sit down on one of the chairs on the balcony.

"Come here. I suppose a story or two won't hurt anything."

Timothy chuckled happily, and sat down in the seat next to John, turning to him to wait for him to start his story.

John relaxed in his seat as he began to tell the curious boy about the many adventures he had with Sherlock Holmes before he died. He told him about how clever Sherlock was with his deductions; how his deductions always blew the minds of anyone he vocalized them to, including himself. He was in the process of telling Timothy about their third case together when he noticed that Timothy had gone unusually quiet. He looked to his side to see that Timothy had his head resting lightly against John's arm, mouth hanging open slightly as he let out soft breaths. Timothy was asleep.

John smiled slightly, staying still so Timothy could sleep. He turned to look at the people down below him who were still conversing on how Sherlock could have faked his death. There must be close to a thousand theories by now, but John couldn't believe them. He would be getting his hopes up for nothing. Sherlock was gone.

After about ten minutes had elapsed, he heard boards creaking behind him. He figured that it was Timothy's parents, come to claim him to take him home to bed. It _was_ quite late after all. He didn't move yet though. He didn't want to awaken Timothy from his slumber if he could prevent it.

Whoever had come up onto the balcony didn't say anything. John knew that it wasn't just the boards creaking as the foundation settled; he could feel the presence of someone standing directly behind him. He still didn't turn or say anything though. He continued to stare down at the crowd below him.

"How do _you _think Sherlock died?" piped up the voice slightly.

He chuckled at the person the voice belonged to. It was Lestrade. What was he doing here? He turned his head slightly to look at him, a small smile on his face.

"What are you doing here, Greg?"

Greg smiled slightly back, taking a seat on the other side of John as his eyes continued to roam the crowd below them.

"It was my night off, and I caught drift of something like this going on. I figured that I'd come and check it out. What are you doing here?"

He shrugged. "Guess you could accuse boredom."

Greg smirked then, chuckling lightly. "You sound like Sherlock."

"I suppose I do," said John, a hinge of sadness in his voice.

Greg turned sideways to look at Timothy, who still had his head resting on John's arm.

"Who's your friend?"

"His name is Timothy. He came to give me a drink, and then when he found out who I was, he wanted to hear stories about Sherlock."

Greg let out a sigh, smiling sadly then.

"I'm assuming you told him a story or two."

"I did. He was apparently tired though."

Silence fell once more as the two men went back to staring at the people below them. Greg, once again, decided to be the one to cut the sadness.

"Do you believe that Sherlock faked his death?"

"No, I don't. I believe that he died. I saw him fall. I took his pulse."

Greg nodded, understanding.

"I agree with you, but it's not like I can go down there and tell all of these people that. For crying out loud, Anderson believes that he faked his death!"

"Anderson does?" asked John with a surprised laugh.

"Yes, he does. I keep telling him though that no amount of theories will bring him back."

John could hear a creaking on the steps again, and shifted slightly. Surely it must be his parents this time. Greg didn't turn right off; his eyes fixated on the crowd below them.

"Hey, Anderson's down there, speaking of him!"

"Really?" asked John with a soft laugh, trying to pick Anderson out from the crowd.

Whoever just came up the stairs was paused behind them. After a minute or two passed with the man standing behind them, Greg turned to address the person, seeing that it would be harder for John to while Timothy was still using his arm as a pillow.

"Do you..." Greg's voice died out as he sat half turned in his seat. He gaped at the person, blinking his eyes quickly to make sure he wasn't seeing things he wasn't suppose to be. "What the..."

"Greg?" John looked at him. "What is it?"

Greg slowly pushed up from his chair; his mouth opening and closing like that of a fish. Suddenly, he leaned forward to hug the person tightly.

"You little..."

"Careful, Greg. I just came back from the dead. I'm fragile."

That voice. John's blood immediately ran cold. It couldn't be him. He was dead. He was hearing things. Maybe he had fallen asleep too, and this was all some sort of dream that he would wake up from.

"Sherlock?" John whispered quietly.

"Sherlock, you bloody..."

"Shh, Greg. We're in the presence of a child, albeit a sleeping one. Watch your tongue."

Greg chuckled, letting go of Sherlock after a minute.

John didn't know how to react. He was feeling a bunch of emotions all at once. He was angry that Sherlock had faked his death. He was aching from the betrayal from Sherlock. He was hurt that he apparently couldn't be trusted and let in on the details of whatever plan Sherlock had formulated. Yet, despite all of these immediate, negative feelings, he couldn't help but let his heart swell a bit from the happiness that his best friend wasn't dead.

"How...why did you?..."

John was floundering for the right sentence to vocalize at that moment. He couldn't seem to think of the right one.

"Hello John," said Sherlock moving to bend in front of John. "How have you been?"

"How...how have I been?" John could feel the emotions clogging up his throat. "I thought you were dead! How do you think I've been?"

John's sudden shout caused Timothy to stir in his sleep. He turned to his side to pat Timothy's arm gently.

"It's alright, Timothy...Just stay asleep...I didn't mean to disturb you..."

Despite John's attempts to soothe Timothy back to sleep, his eyes slowly opened. He balled his hands into small fists and rub them against his eyes as he tried to rid the remnants of sleep from himself. As Timothy slowly awakened more and more, his eyes grew wide as they stared at the man crouched before him.

"Are you...are you _Sherlock?_"

Sherlock chuckled softly, reaching out a hand to rustle the boys hair gently.

"Yes, that would be me."

"You aren't dead! I knew it!"

Timothy, who seemed to suddenly gain a sense of alertness for having just woken up from sleep, sprung out of his seat and hugged Sherlock tight. Timothy's hug came as a surprise to Sherlock, and he fought to stay steady in his crouched position and not land on his butt. Sherlock hugged Timothy back gently, chuckling.

"You had a lot of faith, young one."

"I did! I just knew that you couldn't be dead!"

Timothy was squeezing Sherlock so tight, it looked as if he would constrict his breathing. Sherlock merely chuckled, standing up and lifting Timothy with him. He hefted Timothy up, and held him in his arms, balancing him on his hip. He looked from Greg's bewildered face to John's confused and angry one.

"I realize that I have a lot of explaining to do, and I will do it all. Just not now." He turned to smile at Timothy who had a smile of his own on his face that looked to be a mile wide. "I have to reunite a certain young man with his parents."

"No! I don't want to go! You have to tell me how you did it!"

"Later, young one. Lets find your parents first."

As Sherlock turned, getting ready to carry Timothy downstairs, John started to walk beside him. Timothy turned to look at John, still widely smiling.

"I told you you were a superhero's sidekick! Your stories brought him back to life!"

John cracked a small smile, along with Sherlock. Greg started to walk on the other side of Sherlock, smiling too.

"You're almost correct, Timothy, in how I came back to life," declared Sherlock as he started to carefully walk downstairs holding Timothy; John and Greg tailing right behind him.

"Really?" asked Timothy. "What did I miss?"

"Belief in who I really was is what brought me back. None of you spoke ill against me. You _all_ had a hand in bringing me back to life."


End file.
